


Burning Eyes

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Burns, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Dark Ages, Fluff, Hair Brushing, Horses, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Medieval Medicine, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Rescue, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: Crowley is in a less-than-ideal situation involving fire and an angry mob. Good thing Aziraphale is there to swoop in a rescue him.Inspired by @10yrsart 's adorable comic on Tumblrhttp://10yrsyart.tumblr.com
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 152





	Burning Eyes

Aziraphale climbed off of his horse and surveyed the town square. He had heard there was a witch burning, and, curious, he descended from his home in the mountains. He had always detested witch burnings. Oftentimes the 'witch' was just a scared girl men wanted power over. He hoped he could talk some sense into the townspeople before they killed yet another innocent person. 

When he smelled the familiar smell of burned flesh, he feared he was too late. He approached the town centre, pushing his way past the crazed townsfolk. Smoke billowed from the fire, and Aziraphale looked up. 

He caught a glimpse of long, raven hair, and the familiar glint of sun-bright eyes. 

"Crowley, is that you?" he asked. 

It wasn't a question, but more as an exclamation. His old friend had a history of getting into trouble, and this was certainly no different. 

"Angel!" Crowley shrieked as he squirmed in his bindings. 

"Gloat later, help now!" 

Aziraphale winced at seeing Crowley's obviously pained look. He had to act fast. 

"Excuse me, good lady," he said, turning to his horse. 

"Would you be so kind as to cause a distraction?"

A look of understanding crossed the horse's face, and Aziraphale smiled. 

"Splendid." 

The horse whinnied and galloped into the crowd, causing the mob to disperse in terror. In the commotion, Aziraphale was able to reach the stake where Crowley was tied up. 

He slashed the ropes with his knife, and Crowley breathed in relief. The relief was short lives, as the flames were still licking at Crowley's legs and tunic. Aziraphale held out his arms. 

"Jump! I'll catch you!" he said. 

Crowley bit his lip in hesitation. The flames were getting higher, and he could feel his skin burning. He took a deep breath, and jumped down. 

"Oof!" Aziraphale exclaimed as Crowley fell into his arms. 

"Sssorry," Crowley mumbled as he slumped against him. 

"It's quite alright, dear boy," Aziraphale assured him, helping him to his feet. 

Crowley grunted as Aziraphale slung his arm over his shoulder. 

"However did you get into such a situation?" Aziraphale asked as they walked away from the scene. 

"Can we save this for a better time and place?" Crowley snapped through gritted teeth. 

"Jussst a thought here," he hissed.

Aziraphale cocked his head in sympathy. 

"Oh! Of course, of course," he said quickly, "we'll go back to my room." 

Crowley let out an exaggerated gasp.

"Aziraphale! The scandal!" he teased. 

"Shush now, you pest," Aziraphale chided fondly. 

Back in Aziraphale's room, the angel got to work tending to Crowley's wounds. 

"Hold still," he said softly as he dipped a clean cloth into a bowl of hot water. 

"Gah!" Crowley gasped as Aziraphale began cleaning the raw flesh on legs. 

"I'm sorry, Crowley, but you really don't want these to get infected." 

"Trying to kill me," Crowley muttered under his breath. 

Aziraphale frowned. He didn't like having to cause him pain, but he knew it was for his own good. His eyes landed on a bottle of mead, and he had an idea. 

"Drink this," he instructed, holding out a mug of the brown liquid. 

Crowley looked into the murky alcohol dubiously. He suspected it had sat gathering dust for years. 

"Eh. Mead's mead," he shrugged, and downed the drink. 

Aziraphale let out a small chuckle. 

"It should help lessen your nerves." 

"Thanks," Crowley whispered, already beginning to have a dazed look to his eyes. 

Aziraphale was able to continue dressing his burns, and soon Crowley began animatedly describing how he wound up into his predicament. 

"Was just mindi-mindin' my own business," he slurred. 

"I was at the tavern, and this bloke comes up to me an' says I was lookin' at his wife funny. Of course I wasn't, you know how my eyes are. Can't look normally," he explained. 

Aziraphale, who was in the middle of bandaging his leg, patted his thigh sympathetically. 

"Anyway," Crowley continued, "I 'course told him that I wasn't, 'cause I'm not a creep, y'know." 

He winced as Aziraphale touched a particularly sensitive patch of skin. 

"Ever so sorry, old boy," Aziraphale murmured. 

"S'alright." 

Aziraphale gave him a small smile before Crowley continued on with his tale. 

"And then the bloke says, "I'll bet you think you're a wise guy," and then I said, "yeah, I bet.""

Aziraphale snorted.

"And he knocked over my ale-"

"The nerve!" Aziraphale interjected. 

Crowley nodded, fired up. 

"-and yanked me back, which took my hood with it, so, well, y'know…" 

He trailed off, knowing Aziraphale didn't need further explanation. 

"So you let a bunch of humans burn you at the stake," Aziraphale said simply. 

He wasn't trying to tease the poor demon, but he had to admit, his behaviour did worry him at times. He knew Crowley was most certainly capable of defending himself, and yet it still seemed he would up nearly burned at the stake, or at the end of a sword, or buried alive. Aziraphale wouldn't dare call his companion reckless, at least not to his face, but he suspected that sometimes he just froze up when under stress. 

"You know how they are," Crowley sighed with a pout. 

"I couldn't focus enough to think of an out." 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but Crowley shut him up with a glare. 

"Hey, don't act like you weren't overtaken by those raiders 50 years ago-" 

Aziraphale hardly heard him, and was instead looking at his once shiny tresses. 

"They even singed your hair," he remarked sadly. 

Crowley looked up, his eyes wide with confusion. 

"Eh?"

"Allow me to fix it for you," Aziraphale offered gently.

He began to run his fingers through the wiry hair. 

"Erm, sure, um, yeah, " Crowley stammered, looking down bashfully. 

"If you want." 

Aziraphale combed through his hair with his soft, plump fingers, removing any bits of ash as he ran along. Crowley felt some of his pent-up tension escape as Aziraphale carefully pulled his hair back, massaging his scalp in the process. He let out slow breaths as he relaxed. 

"Here we go," Aziraphale said finally as he tied it all back with a red ribbon. 

Crowley touched his hair and looked away, knowing full well how much emotion just his eyes could give away. 

"Thanks, angel," he managed to say. 

Aziraphale beamed, his entire face glowing as if his halo were still in the physical realm. Damn, if Crowley wasn't a goner. 

"Sso, what've you been up to?" he asked nonchalantly. 

Aziraphale clasped his hands together in excitement. 

"Well," he began passionately, "you would not believe the things they're doing with illuminated manuscripts these days." 

Crowley watched adoringly as Aziraphale explained in meticulous detail what he had discovered in the monasteries. He hardly understood a word Aziraphale was saying, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that Aziraphale was happy, and when Aziraphale was happy, he glowed with a radiance brighter than a thousand suns. Crowley smiled with overwhelming fondness as he basked in his warmth.


End file.
